a piece of money." The unconsciousness of all this is
very striking.

VI.--Winkle and Snodgrass

It has always seemed a matter of astonishment to me how such a creature
as Winkle should have won the fair Arabella. Every act of this man was a
deception--he could not help pretence, or, shall we say it boldly, lying.
His duel was a series of tricks--his shooting, skating, etc., all a sham.
Even when found out as an impostor before all the keepers and others, we
find him impudently saying, "I'll tell you what I shall do _to get up my
shooting again_." The fellow never had any shooting to get up. But the
mere habit of untruth was ingrained in the man. His undignified race, in
a dressing-gown, round the Crescent was no doubt concealed from
Arabella--she would never have got over that! As a display of cowardice
it was only matched by his hypocritical assumption of courage before
Dowler when he found he could assume it safely. He deceived his father
and Mr. Pickwick as to his marriage, and dropped on his knees to the
latter to beg pardon. How mean, too, was his behaviour to Mrs. Pott in
the difficulty with her husband. But nothing could shake the interest of
the fair Arabella in her lover, even his ignominious and public treatment
by Mr. Pickwick at the skating exhibition. How _can_ we account for it.
But Boz knew the female nature well, and here is the explanation: Winkle
had been "out"--had figured in a duel with a real officer in the army.
There was no mistake about _that_--gone out, too, in what appeared a
chivalrous manner to save the honour of the club. At least it had the
appearance of all that (though here was another falsehood). This had
been told to all--no doubt by Winkle himself--many times over. Nothing
could enfeeble that, it seemed heroic, and covered all other _laches_.
Neither did it lose in _his_ telling of it.

The most ridiculous feature surely in the man was his costume--meant to
be of a sporting complexion--which he never abandoned: green shooting
coat, plaid neckchief, and closely fitting drabs. When he returned from
his honeymoon, he was still in this uniform.

We may assume, however, that this points to a custom of the time: that
the sportsman was _always_ a sportsman. Even at the club meeting, at a
poorish room in a tavern, he must carry on the fiction that he has just
come back from a day's sporting, for there on the floor, conspicuous, are
the fowling piece, game bag, fishing